


Seeking Solace

by PrettyMessedUpSituation (MarcelinesNightosphere)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 08:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13807881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelinesNightosphere/pseuds/PrettyMessedUpSituation
Summary: Months after Cas's death, Sam and Dean are still struggling with their grief and finding their own ways to move past it.





	Seeking Solace

He wasn’t sure why, but the string of Christmas lights lining the top of his headboard and winding around the lamp on his bedside table made things feel a little calmer. His head was still full of chaos and things he wasn’t ready to process, but the ambient light given off by those tiny clear bulbs somehow put everything into focus again.

He listened to Zepp’s “When the Levee Breaks” and “In My Time of Dying” as he lay there in his bed with his ankles crossed and head tilted back to look at the glow the lights reflected onto his ceiling. They cast a soothing warm light that never dimmed or flickered against the shadows that came from every corner of the room. Everything stayed motionless. Had Dean not been listening to music, he’d have had no sense of time passing as he just stared at his ceiling.

Alcohol wasn’t needed to numb the pain at this point. He was at a place where the void he used to try to fill was content with being left empty. The dollar-store Christmas lights and the music that got him through some lonely times on the road kept him company well enough.

The buzz of a message notification on his phone pulled his attention to his nightstand. Jody was probably checking up on him again. In the low light, he saw the layer of dust that had built up on the wood. His brow furrowed and he sat up a little to look around his room. A pile of dirty clothes lay on the floor next to the unused side of his bed. The things from his desk he’d knocked over in anger were strewn across the chair and the floor, and empties had filled the spaces between them. “Okay. Enough,” he said to himself.

Grabbing a sock, Dean went around and dusted the surfaces of the room, then picked up his trash can and started pitching all the garbage away. One by one, he picked up the books and pens and picture frames. He placed them on the desk and arranged them neatly.

Sitting at his desk, Dean suddenly realized how sore his body felt. He rolled his eyes as he remembered how Sam had tried to get him to do yoga and felt a twinge of regret that he hadn’t learned at least a few movements to get this achiness out of his muscles. More than a clean living space, Dean needed some room to breathe.

He glanced over his room from the open doorway, a folded trenchcoat gripped tight in his hand. Dean sighed, and left the safety of the room and the anesthetized feeling it had given him.

* * *

 

He winced at the bitter cold air circling into his lungs as he took a deep breath. His cheeks already felt the sting and he’d only been exposed for as long as it took for him to shut the door behind him and walk up the steps. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, Sam walked down a path behind the bunker that he took on days he needed to be alone and above ground. He’d kept the path tamped down enough the past few weeks that the snow, calf high elsewhere,  crunched beneath his tread. The ice created from the melting and refreezing of his footprints lay under the fresh dusting. It splintered and cracked as he stepped along his self-made trail into the thicket that surrounded their hidden home, broken as it was.

He reached a break in the trees and found the camping stool he’d carried out a few trips ago. Popping it open, he brushed off the snow, placed it firmly on the ground in front of a tree, and sat himself down.

A crisp, clear sky was above him. He’d only seen more stars a few times in his life. His eyes traced constellations and memories laced in those stars, listening to the conversations he’d had under them throughout his life. A great deal of those were with his brother; this night he found himself stuck on the times he stared up at them with Cas.

He’d asked question after question about why Sam and Dean found the sky so fascinating, and by the end of that summer, Cas seemed to get it. Sam dragged him out at one in the morning to watch the Perseid meteor shower and watched the genuine awe in the angel’s face. It had been a few years since they shared that moment together, but Sam could still picture the fondness in his eyes as his mouth curled into a warm smile.

Tonight, alone, he burrowed down into his jacket and looked up to watch the Geminids and made a wish on every star that streaked across the sky. He wished Cas was there. He wished he had been able to wake him up to share in the quiet beauty of the stars where even an angel had found a little something wondrous. He wished his brother wasn’t drinking and listening to music in his room like an angst-ridden teenager. He wished neither of them had to grieve over anyone ever again.

But that’s a little too much to hope for when you’re a Winchester.

He stayed out and watched a few more meteors streak across the sky, and when his nose started to hurt from the cold, he folded his camp stool back up, dusted himself off, and started walking back toward the bunker.

* * *

 

Sam made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, but stopped short when he saw Dean there. He cleared his throat. “Hey. Good to see you out.”

Dean turned from the stove and nodded. “Sorry, Sam. I just...needed some time.”

Sam nodded. “I get it. I do. Rough time of year to be missing people. Anybody.”

“Everybody,” Dean corrected. “But we’re both still here. There’s no point in focusing on who’s not.”  

“What’re you making?” Sam asked as he took a seat at the table.

“Chicken soup. I hear it’s good for the soul.”

Sam smiled. “Sounds great. The creamy kind with egg noodles?”

“And rice,” Dean added, returning his attention to the stove to stir. “I think we both need something that’ll stick to our insides.” He set the spoon across the top of the simmering pot and turned back to face Sam. “Your face is red,” Dean said as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. He grinned. “Reminds me of when you were a kid and would stay out watching the snow fall for so long I thought your nose was gonna fall off.”

“Maybe we should make a trip up to see Jody,” Sam suggested. “We both need to get out of this place for a little while.”

Dean’s eyes focused on a spot on the floor. “Yeah. Maybe we should.”

After sitting in a long minute of silence, Sam spoke. “It sucks,” he said.

Dean turned back around to the stove. He picked up a bowl and ladled a sizeable portion of soup into it, then another into his own. He paused as he reached for the remaining bowl and let his hand fall into a fist that he pushed against the counter. “Yeah. It sucks.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed this entry to Seasons.  
> You can yell at me [on tumblr](http://www.prettymessedupsituation.tumblr.com), or on twitter @AshinBlack.   
> Big thank you to [VioletHaze](http://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze) for being an amazing beta.


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